


One of the rotten ones

by etiquettedarling



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M, Gen, Some angst, ok more angst now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etiquettedarling/pseuds/etiquettedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the 7th of April, exactly 1 month before her brother’s wedding, Caroline hops on a plane to New York.</p><p>It’s not that she’s not happy for him (she is) or that the maid of honour speaks to her in a painfully civil tone throughout all of the preparations (she does, and Caroline finds herself being catty on purpose just to see if she’ll snap) but because everyone seems to be going somewhere but her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Buried underneath your pretty clothes

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a somewhat tipsy writing exercise but has kind of grown into something bigger. Not sure how many chapters are going to be in this just yet. watch this space.

On the 7th of April, exactly 1 month before her brother’s wedding, Caroline hops on a plane to New York.

It’s not that she’s not happy for him (she is) or that the maid of honour speaks to her in a painfully civil tone throughout all of the preparations (she _does_ , and Caroline finds herself being catty on purpose just to see if she’ll snap) but because everyone seems to be going somewhere but her.

She knows it’s only a matter of time before Bennet sister number two and Darcy wind up engaged and before Bing permanently re locates to Netherfield. Gigi’s living in Rhode Island for school so Caroline decides the east coast is as good a place as any.

It’s a sudden decision. Made on a whim. One that only unemployed heiresses are able to come to after a final fitting for a bridesmaid dress.

_East Coast here I come!_

The tweet sends as she slides into the cab and a thrill washes over her. Somewhere in her head she’s sure she can hear her mother lecturing her about this trip just being ‘something to do to pass the time’ but she ignores it, lets the little jolt of anticipation rush through her as they pull away from the curb and gazes out the window at her building as they drive towards the airport.

 

 

___

To his credit, Bing does take a break from his blissful life to give her a call. Ask why the sudden change was necessary. Try to figure out if she’s ok.

Caroline puts a warm smile into her voice and says “Don’t worry about me” so he doesn’t.

 

 

___

New York. Beautiful, busy New York. Full of beautiful, busy people. Caroline becomes one of them.

She sees galleries and shops and reads novels at cafes and does drinks with Gigi occasionally over the weekend.

She meets Frank Churchill too.

He is so different from the last man she found at all interesting. And yet there is something in there that remains the same. Caroline takes the easy way out and brushes it off as his breeding, his wealth, the fact that he’s kind of tall. It’s hardly like she’s going to develop an interest for some plebeian member of a lower class. _That_ is much more Bing’s speed.

Besides, Caroline likes a challenge.

Which turns out to be the problem.

 

\---

Frank Churchill is nice. He flirts with her over drinks and always asks her to dance. He makes New York fun and interesting. Makes Caroline fun and interesting.

He never tries to kiss her. Not even when they’ve both had too much to drink and he puts her in a cab one Saturday night.

She stupidly, drunkenly thinks that is is gallantry. That really, he's just a gentleman. 

It's not the first time she's said this to herself, but if she realises, it's quickly brushed aside.

 

___

He’s affectionate in small ways though. A hand on her back or a smile across the room. The conversation they have is mostly banter, teasing and light. It’s been such a long time that Caroline has spoken without ulterior motives that she revels in how playful the whole thing is. It leaves her almost giggling behind her friendly smirk.

They see galleries and shops and read novels at cafes and do drinks with other members of the misplaced west coast elitists currently residing in New York. No one else really captures her attention like he does though.

They spend a large amount of time quietly mocking the rest of the room and Caroline would be lying if she said the setup was not familiar.

Frank is not Darcy (she repeats it to herself far too often) he isn’t dry or withdrawn. He’s charming, and affectionate and buys her cocktails and jokes about the ridiculous elitism of the post modern art world whilst somehow maintaining his position at the very height of class and good breeding.

And if he’s a little bit distant, and sometimes forgets to listen when a new person enters the room she doesn’t worry.

(Frank is not Darcy, but they end up being similar enough in one way that counts)

 

___

He smiles at her in that way he has, like she’s simultaneously the center of his world and something barely worth his time and says “Come on Caroline, you didn’t really want this did you?”

 _No_ , she thinks ignoring the bitter feeling of embarrassment and anger that creeps up behind her eyes, _I suppose I didn’t_.

If there’s one thing that destroys her attraction to someone it’s their admitting a lack of interest.

In the back of her mind there’s a childhood shrink telling her that it’s a defense mechanism. _Wow Genius_ , she snarks back internally, bringing a hibiscus Mojito to her cherry red lips, _how did you figure that one out_?

Besides. Frank Churchill isn’t important.

Just another rich man using her as a way to pass time. Love is, after all, an illusion.

She’d probably be less annoyed about the whole thing it if he had at least used her for sex.

Really, some men just had no sense of propriety.

 

___

Caroline will find out in six months time that Frank has gotten engaged to an elementary school teacher called Jane and because of a number of extenuating circumstances, she’ll find herself laughing.

 

___

Jane and Bing’s wedding is good. Well, It’s _ok_. In a small town, too-many-flowers and no-air-conditioning-in-the-church kind of way. Even though she’s still not a fan of her brother’s Disney princess bride she’s happy the woman found a colour that somehow suited all three of the bridesmaids.

The wedding is fine.

Caroline has spent so much time strolling down the streets of LA in heels she practically glides down the isle.

Caroline looks better in red.

Caroline is tall and beautiful and sophisticated.

Caroline walks behind Lizzie and Darcy in the procession and has to bite the inside of her cheek to remind herself to smile.

She remains attentive throughout the ceremony. Doesn’t roll her eyes through her father’s speech (his fourth wife is in attendance and part of her has to physically fight the urge to laugh when he says the words ‘marriage’ and ‘commitment’ in the same sentence) and discreetly excuses herself when the bouquet is thrown.

With any luck Lizzie will catch it again and she and William will get to reenact their whole beautiful first meeting. The words “Decent Enough” have probably become their own little joke. She can feel the pleasant expression slide off her face as the thought crosses her mind.

 

___

Caroline lights up a cigarette in the country club bathroom and considers for a brief reckless moment dragging one of the cater waiters in there with her. It’s only there for a second, more an idea of how to pass the time than a desire to do something debaucherous at her Brother’s Wedding.

She finishes her cigarette, reapplies her lipstick and determines that if she’s not going to have nasty bathroom sex with an underpaid cater waiter at the very least she should make use of the mediocre wine selection.

 

___

The rest of the evening is spent drinking too much champagne, ignoring the looks Bing gives her when he smells cigarette smoke on her clothes and quietly wishing there was someone there to roll her eyes with.

Lizzie and Darcy disappear for a little while and when they return his mother’s engagement ring is sitting snugly on her finger.

Her mother cries, His sister physically fist pumps, Bing and Jane are So Happy for the couple and Caroline finishes her drink.

 

___

“Congratulations!”

“Thankyou Caroli-”

“Oh Caroline, I _can_ call you that now, after all we _are family now_ , is this not the most exciting news you’ve heard all year? My Lizzie _finally_ engaged, and to this wonderful young man as well, we all thought it would never happen”

The glass clasped in her left hand is the only reason there’s still a smile on Caroline’s face. Well that, and it’s just occurred to her that the woman currently prattling on about her middle child’s supreme luck in snagging a rich man to knock her up is going to be Darcy’s mother in law. The entire idea is so bizarre and so completely satisfying that she shoots a look at him. Her smile is still in place but it is laced with judgmental amusement. To the untrained eye he doesn’t appear to notice, but he does shift his weight and almost move his chin back towards his adams apple, and that’s good enough for her.

“ _Mom_ ”

“I suppose you’ll want to help planning the wedding?” Caroline speaks in her most pleasant tone “I know you were such a gem helping Jane with this one” out of the corner of her eye she sees Darcy stiffen slightly and Lizzie is looking at her with jaw slackened horror, unfazed she presses on, the very picture of polite as the wine she’s ingested buzzes in her ears “I’m sure you must have a lot of ideas”

That’s all it takes really. The woman is all colour stories, taffeta and babies breath from there. Lizzie looks panicked, Darcy’s chin has completely disappeared into his neck, and Caroline lifts up her drink to cheers both of them while they’re not looking. _Yes_ , she takes another deep sip, this was exactly what she needed.

 

___

When she gets back to Netherfield, and falls into her bed, she expects her residual amusement to disintegrate into anger. That the feeling at the back of her throat whenever she sees them together is cold fury instead of embarrassment and the thick feeling of loneliness sitting on her tongue. She wants to do something reckless, wishes she knew someone in this backwater town who she could have messy angry sex with and then kick out of bed ten minutes later. Instead, the feeling coating her tongue spreads down her throat, branches into her lungs and burrows into the pit of her stomach.

It only crosses her mind for a second, but Caroline wonders what it would be like to be fooled by the delusion of love (to be stupid but completely, blissfully happy) then the cheap wine creeps up her throat and she doesn’t have time to think about anything except the quickest route to the bathroom.

Later, as she kneels over the porcelain bowl, emptying her stomach of the fish course, she lets herself wonder how the hell she found herself in this big ugly house again, vomiting in a bridesmaid dress.

 


	2. Could you dance if no-one was watching?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wonders briefly if she should just avoid the internet all together before hurling her riedel glass, filled with a freshly decanted '97 Merlot, at the wall next to her mostly useless desk. It makes a satisfying shattering noise and deep burgundy trickles down the sparse white decor. Her brain jumps quickly to potential lipstick colours a she stares at the puddle, gradually pooling on the hardwood floor.
> 
> Caroline decides then and there that she needs to get out of the apartment, throws on something effortlessly fabulous and leaves the mess for later.

She's glad to be back in LA.  
  
The streets are busier. The people brighter. Everything has a plastic sheen that she used to associate with her mother but now makes her think of her favourite fuschia lipstick. She sits in her airy studio apartment and drinks wine and listens to vintage records resolutely not thinking about Frank or whatever is or isn't beginning to be planned somewhere among the _unforgiving_ hills of San Francisco.  
  
(She had continued to watch the videos. It's not something she admits to anyone. Initially it was out of a morbid curiosity, but her reasons changed as the videos progressed. There was something terribly satisfying about watching Gigi throw herself into setting Darcy and Lizzie up. Kind of like peeling off a scab or popping a blister or scratching a mosquito bite until it bled.)  
  
Bing and Jane don't tweet or call from their honeymoon in Paris (she imagines if they did it would be all hackneyed cliches about the 'city of love' and how lovely the French are anyway), she and Darcy don't talk anymore, Gigi’s moving back home for summer and no one else bothers her for a whole week.  
  
It's blissful radio silence punctuated by french crooners on vinyl and pouring organic plunger coffee.  
  
Then three things happen:  
  
1) Caroline receives an email from her mother.  
  
2) Gigi Darcy tweets about how excited she is to be gaining a sister.  
  
3) BingAndJane take the time to upload all of their honeymoon photos to facebook.  
  
She wonders briefly if she should just avoid the internet all together before hurling her riedel glass, filled with a freshly decanted '97 Merlot, at the wall next to her mostly useless desk. It makes a satisfying shattering noise and deep burgundy trickles down the sparse white decor. Her brain jumps quickly to potential lipstick colours and she stares at the puddle, gradually pooling on the hardwood floor.  
  
Caroline decides then and there that she needs to get out of the apartment, throws on something effortlessly fabulous and leaves the mess for later.

\---

Caroline drinks cocktails with people she doesn't find interesting. It's a new habit she's gotten into. Find people who are vapid, or a little bit dumb or in some way less than she is, and surround herself with them.  
  
She never put much stock in 'Tall Poppy Syndrome' anyway.  
  
Lucy dresses in last seasons sample sales.  
  
Henrietta always drinks a little bit too much when someone else is buying.  
  
And Augusta gives everyone she meets the least endearing nicknames in the world (probably as a way to deal with the fact her parents decided that naming her after the founder of the Roman empire would be a good idea).  
  
Standing out among these acceptable but by no means extraordinary women, Caroline lets herself dwell on cliches about 'the little things' and presses her mouth into a tight line when Augusta calls her 'Carrie'.

\---

She ends up having lunch with her mother one sweltering Sunday.  
  
“I would hope you’ve been doing more with your fathers money than just spending it on trips to New York Caroline”  
  
“Have you even considered trying to find work? You know the firm would always happily take you on”  
  
“You’re a bright girl Caroline, it pains me to see you waste it all on frivolities”  
  
Her mother used to sing ‘Sweet Caroline’ badly to help her get to sleep on the rare weekends when the Au Pair was out of town. She can’t really remember the specifics of the nightmares that were keeping her up, just a gnawing feeling of anxiety and isolation. Somewhere along to road they stopped being nightmares and instead manifested themselves in much less subconscious ways. Her mother had moved out and stopped singing to her at that point.    
  
“I’m sure there’s somewhere we could put you”  
  
The sentiment has been relayed to her every couple of weeks since she told her parents that she wouldn’t be going to grad school  
  
Sometimes Caroline thinks she did it just to spite her.

\---

  
Once in high school Marianne Dashwood had told her she was going to amount to nothing but an air headed socialite or a trophy wife. It was probably in retaliation of some imagined slight (with Marianne it always was) but the words resonate inside her head as she picks up her Gin and Tonic from the bartop and easily navigates the conversation with an almost slurring Henrietta a week after that lunch.  
  
The last she heard of the Dashwoods they were living in a three bedroom apartment somewhere in Illinois.  
  
Caroline counts it as a win even if she didn’t do anything.

\---

"Ok don’t look now but there is a very, very attractive man who keeps looking at Caroline”

“Which one?”  
  
“ _Augusta I said don’t look!_ ”  
  
Caroline briefly feels like she’s surrounded by 14-year-olds but can’t help but be a little bit pleased. She pulls a curtain of dark hair over her shoulder to expose the low back of her dress, consequently giving the Very Attractive Man a decent view.  
  
She’s nothing if not a philanthropist.  
  
Although even the most philanthropic of people have limits on their patience.

Caroline's is two minutes. Two minutes of listening to the tittering and giggling of her companions before she excuses herself to go to the bar. She probably doesn’t need another Gin and Tonic (her head as already fuzzy and she can feel her annoyance petering away to reveal something she can only describe as ‘melancholy’) but the walk to the bar is a respite from them, and a chance for the handsome stranger to approach her.  
  
Lord knows she could use it.  
  
She can feel the part of her that was once good friends with William Darcy roll her eyes at the filthy thoughts that sometimes pop up in her head (she doubts Darcy ever had a thought that wasn’t directly related to work, Gigi or punching George Wickham before he met Lizzie Bennet). But lord knows she hasn’t had sex in a good long while and part of her can’t help but think her almost perpetual bad mood has something to do with that. It’s the quickest fix she can think of anyway.  
  
So she lets herself hope for a second that the attractive man is going to join her at the bar, take her home a do unspeakable things to her. Lets herself think, for a second that it would be really, really nice, to just have some good sex.  
  
Caroline gets what she wants, but fate and the universe conspire against her to make it a moot point.  
  
The Very Good Looking guy does come up to talk to her at the bar. He even appears to want to take her home and do unspeakable things to her.  
  
The Very Good Looking Guy also happens to be George Wickham.  
  
Caroline looks at him with narrowed eyes as he introduces himself, offers to buy her a drink and says something generic about how fantastic he noticed she looked from across the room.  
  
“Well, _obviously_ ” Is all she manages to spit out.  
  
To his credit he laughs it off and says something that would be quite charming if she were about five years younger and about 90% less jaded.  
  
“Look” she says, and even though he’s still smiling at her (she feels a shiver of dislike slide down her spine) there’s something behind his expression that seems to be him digging his heels in “I wouldn’t bother trying to endear yourself to me George”  
  
“Oh” he leans in, crossing his elbows so his arm is resting up against hers, narrowing his eyes in way that’s designed to be charming, and probably would have been, had she not designated him as ‘complete and utter slimey douchebag’ in her head months ago “why is that?”  
  
Caroline briefly considers playing with him. Leading him on and then pulling out an immature prank, but for the most part all of her ideas seem to end with him getting kicked in the crotch (satisfying true but ultimately lacking in sophistication) so instead she pulls a face like he’s something foul she’s found on her Jimmy Choos, looks him straight in the eyes and says “I’m a good friend of the Darcy’s”  
  
There is something very satisfying watching his smooth facade falter for just a second.  
  
“I have a Bennet as a sister in law as well”  
  
She has never felt such joy at having that particular family connection before, with a grin she picks up the drink he’s bought her (even though she hates cheap gin) and takes a refreshing sip. It’s barely discernible (especially with the amount of liquor she has consumed at this point in her evening) but Wickham appears to be scrambling for something to say.  
  
“Look I’m sure you’ve heard-”  
  
“Yes I have” She cuts him off with an unkind half grin, he goes to speak again but before he can her voice is coming out clipped and unimpressed _(she is so much better than him at this)_ “and I’m sure you have a very lengthy explanation for a number of things you’ve done in the past but believe me, I have no interest in hearing them”  
  
“Well it’s just-”  
  
“None.” she stands takes another gulp and then turns to leave with an insincere “Thankyou for the drink”  
  
He just stops and blinks at her for a second then. It’s exhilarating getting to be honest to god mean to someone. Not passive aggressive and catty. Mean. _Rude_. She hasn’t been able to do it since she was a child. It makes her feel light in the same way that her banterful conversations with Frank did, but instead of wanting to giggle like a schoolgirl, it gives her the confidence to stride away from him, drink in hand not even needing to look back to know he’s staring at her.  
  
 _Good. Let him stare._ The words flit across her brain as she leans forwards glances to where he is at the bar and tells her friends about a herpes epidemic and a sex tape and the fact he’s a _swimming coach and how embarrassing he thought I would even consider-_  
  
The things she says aren’t all true but right then she can’t say she’s fond of the whole ‘strong silent lawsuit free’ thing that Darcy always defaulted to in moments of conflict.  
  
Besides the sex tape one is true, and even if Caroline still can’t stand the youngest Bennet sister, no one deserves that.

\---

(She had been satisfied when she watched the whole thing unfurl in vlog form.There had been a short moment, when Lizzie had received the phone call that all she could do was square her shoulders smile slightly and think ‘See? _See?_ ’)  
  
(The feeling had lingered longer than she was proud to admit)  
  
(She comforts herself by repeating that Bing has always been the nice one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC ALSO KIND OF DOUBLES AS A BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO MY DEAR FRIEND ALEX. HAPPY BIRTHDAY. In lieu of being in the same country and being able to throw confetti at her face she gets some angsty fic instead. Don't you all wish you were friends with me? HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN.
> 
> Yeah so I thought this might have ended up being a three chapter thing but I feel like its going to be a lot longer. Stay tuned :)
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment, they literally make my day.


	3. Further and further away into the sun

For whatever reason Caroline runs into George Wickham again.  
  
Literally this time.  
  
Maybe its because she spends too much time in bars. Maybe it’s the universe punishing her for being wealthy and beautiful and unemployed. Maybe it’s because god really enjoys pointing and laughing at her on a semi regular basis.  
  
She’s happy to report that in this instance she gets to pummel his left foot with a stiletto heel.  
  
 _(Bing was always the nice one)_  
  
Wickham swears, leans down to his foot and looks up at her with a wince.  
  
She suddenly regresses to her high school self and can hear the word ‘Whoops’ spring insincerely from her lips. The bar is crowded and louder than she’s used to, but he definitely hears her. Even if he doesn’t she’s looking at him like he was just scraped off the bottom of a riding boot so she’s sure the sentiment is there.  
  
Henrietta is standing by her shoulder at the time and looks from George who now looks like he’s about try and make light of the situation. The girl is obviously trying to be subtle, which is what makes it so pathetic.  
  
“Wait Caroline is this the guy who-?”  
  
She cuts her off with raised eyebrows and an emphatic nod.  
  
“Honestly they let anyone in here” Henrietta, who has never stuck to a one drink minimum in her life is obviously enjoying feeling superior.  
  
With one nod she cuts the girl off from discussing the issue further and they’re heading towards the door.  
  
“I doubt we’ll be running into each other again”  

\---

Yes. God is definitely laughing at her.  
  
It’s not that she runs into him again at a bar.  
  
It’s not even that it happens when apparently every single one of her friends has found someone else to talk to.  
  
It’s that it happens _all the fucking time._

\---  
  
Augusta has managed to find someone who actually seems to be charmed by her obnoxious behavior. It is baffling.  
  
His name is Elton, he’s kind of short and has been buying her drinks with Bacardi in them all night. Caroline’s opinion of the man, naturally, isn’t particularly high.  
  
She finds herself wanting someone to talk to about it. About how he reeks of axe body spray and has too much product in his hair but  _really, can Augusta do any better?_  But the rest of them have somehow formed a supportive clique when she wasn’t looking. They’re all ‘so happy’ and ‘so jealous’ and ‘so excited’. Caroline joins in because that’s what you do and quietly considers the possibility of sneaking away to the smoking section without anyone trying to join her. Lucy brings up this Ferrars boy she’s been seeing, Henrietta offers to toast to it and Caroline makes her excuses.

\---

Caroline didn’t know when she suddenly became a person who enjoyed solitude. In highschool she was at her best in a flock of people. It’s not that she isn’t still good at it, working a room, hosting a party, its just she finds herself getting tired of it much faster. Her mind automatically goes to the engagement party invite that's sitting on her kitchen counter and she sucks in a deep drag of her cigarette.  
  
She so isn’t even going to  _go there_  right now.  
  
Caroline exhales, watches the smoke dissipate into the night sky.  
  
“You know smoking’s bad for you”  
  
God. The line isn’t even original.  
  
Neither it turns out, is the guy who says it.  
  
George is leaning against the same wall as her and she wonders for a second how many more time she can look at him like he’s something a cat coughed up on the kitchen floor before he just gets it.  
  
“I’m sorry did I give any kind of indication I wanted to talk to you?”  
  
She’s more sober and less good humoured than the other two times she’s spoken to him. It only takes that one line and a sharp look to have him shrugging and heading off in a different direction.  
  
Caroline naturally makes the mistake of thinking she’s never going to run into him again.

\---  
  
Caroline Skypes with Bing when she has the chance. She lets him worry a little but is usually able to shut him up pretty quickly. Even after his Big Lesson, in the Importance Of Coming To His Own Conclusions he never questions Caroline when she talks fondly of her life in LA. If he notices that there’s a slightly harsher edge to her voice and she seems tired at three o’clock in the afternoon then he doesn’t mention it outside his cursory ‘are you sure you’re ok?’.  
  
He then passes her off to Jane, who is more polite than nice.  
  
“Caroline it’s so good to see you!”  
  
(Not that Caroline can particularly blame her. She did destroy her relationship once.)  
  
She swallows back the bitter feeling on the roof of her mouth and smiles back at her. Even on the screen of her MacBook Jane practically radiates sunshine and cinnamon.  
  
“Likewise”

\---  
  
On a Saturday night of little note Caroline sits aside and listens to her three, boring, useless, slightly less glamorous than her friends talk about the equally boring and useless men in their lives.  
  
(True love is an illusion)  
  
“Well he’s taking me back to the east coast to meet his family-”  
  
“I think we’re doing dinner this weekend”  
  
“Oh this is him texting me now!”  
  
It’s the only reason she’s glad to go to San Fransisco because at that moment, bored and spiteful is better than annoyed and impatient.  
  
(Not jealous. Caroline doesn’t get jealous)  
  
“How about you Caroline, you seeing anyone special?”  
  
She feels like she’s in some twisted episode of Sex and the City (except she hasn’t had sex in- no she’s not going to count that, way too depressing) and she sips on her drink slowly, calculating the best way to answer.  
  
( _“I’ve got far too much going on right now, I was thinking of travelling actually”_  is about to slip elegantly out of her mouth when suddenly Wickham walks into her line of sight. He nods at her like their both in on some sort of joke and all she can do is narrow her eyes. That same shiver of dislike tickles at her neck, mingles with her incredulity at his arrival and she finds her carefully constructed response falling by the wayside)  
  
“Not really”  
  
\---  
  
Caroline’s excitement to be out of LA is short lived.  
  
 _Very_ short lived.

\---

She arrives in San Francisco in the early afternoon and even though she insisted on getting a cab from the airport she’s greeted by Fitz, holding a sign with her name on it.

“Hey Caroline” if he’s bright and excited to see her Caroline knows it’s because Gigi asked him to be.  
  
“Fitz” she smiles as politely as she can muster, even if she had wanted a lift from the airport it would not have been him she would be asking to drive her. They were acquaintances at best. What had started off as poor chemistry (must he assign _everyone_ a nickname?) held together by mutual friendship with Darcy had more or less disintegrated over time. “I thought I told Gigi I was getting a cab”  
  
It’s hard to miss what she’s implying even though her inflection is silky smooth.  
  
“You did” he shrugs “Gigi is-”  
  
“Oh  _I know_ ”  
  
They walk to the car in silence.  
  
\---  
  
The party is exactly what Caroline expects it to be. Cocktail wear, work colleagues and a number of confused Bennet relations staring around at Darcy’s penthouse like they’ve never seen designer furniture before. Waitstaff rush in and out of the kitchen with trays of food and there’s sparkling wine available to the guests.  
  
The memory of throwing up champagne in Netherfield is still fresh enough in Caroline’s mind that she decides to stick with the Darcy vintage scotch instead. It’s not all that difficult to procure.  
  
“Gigi, do you know where your brother keeps the scotch? I’m not much for champagne at the moment”  
  
Glass in hand Gigi looks radiant in a bright yellow dress that swishes around her as she walks to the cabinet in the den stopping only once to beam at her in unadulterated excitement through her stream of slightly tipsy babble.  
  
“I am just so glad those two finally got their act together” she swings the cabinet door open sipping from her glass “I mean really, the fact they even ended up dating in the first place is a miracle”  
  
“I’m a little surprised you and Fitz didn’t wind up orchestrating the entire thing” Caroline delivers the line with a fond smile but she can feel herself scratching at that sore spot on purpose and she doesn’t know why.  
  
“Well” Gigi giggles and pulls out the bottle “We almost had to” and then “you can put it away and everything? I have to go and find Lydia” and then “It is  _so good_  to see you Caroline, I never even got to hear about the rest of your stay in New York. Make sure I find you before the end of the night ok?”  
  
She catches her breath as Gigi leaves the room in a flurry of champagne froth and yellow silk and suddenly finds herself completely alone.  
  
Caroline fills her glass all the way up and rejoins the party.  
  
\---  
  
“Congratulations again”  
  
“Thankyou, that's very kind”  
  
“Have you made any concrete decisions about the wedding yet? I imagine your future mother in law is having fun with the budget on this one”

The snide part of the comment doesn't seem to land and instead Darcy looks almost fondly over at the woman who is engaged in conversation with her brother.  
  
“She and Gigi have been doing the majority of the planning at this stage"  
  
“Well I’m sure it’ll be beautiful”  
  
If Darcy notices the stolen scotch he doesn’t say anything.  
  
Somehow it makes her angrier.  
  
\---  
  
It hits her half way through the speeches. Fitz is telling a joke about his poor wingman skills to rapturous laughter, Jane is very likely about to give a speech that will bring everyone to tears and Caroline realises that there is no reason for her to be there.  
  
Lizzie is family only in the most abstract sense.  
  
She and Darcy haven’t spoken properly in over a year.  
  
There is literally no reason for Caroline to stand around and watch everyone stumble happily through their lives.  
  
She asks Bing to pass on her apologies, lies about having a headache and leaves the party.  
  
\---  
  
Caroline then does three things:

1\. Walks to the nearest convenience store

2\. Buys a packet of cigarettes

3\. Somehow, with very little effort ends up at one of the grossest bars she’s ever set foot in.

There’s a dartboard, and a jukebox and Caroline doesn’t have a chance to really examine much more of the establishment before she throws herself onto a barstool, orders and downs a double scotch.

She wishes she could feel angry, but the only word that’s coming to mind to describe how she feels is ‘Pathetic’. With that in mind, Caroline flags down the bartender, grabs her next drink and squares her shoulders.  
  
Her logic?  
  
It will be much easier to deal with being pathetic if she is also very, very drunk.  
  
Her face is growing pleasantly warm by the time she’s halfway through the drink. Even though she’s well on her way to inebriated, the feeling that settled in her chest months ago isn’t going anywhere. All she wants to do is grab it and tear it from her chest, leaving a gaping bloody crater where it once sat but she doesn’t know how. She wants to get angry. She wants to do something.  
  
As if on cue, the door to the men’s bathroom swings open and George Wickham walks out.  
  
She stares for a second, impolite incredulity and annoyance taking up her entire countenance.  
  
“Are you  _fucking_   _kidding me?_ ”  
  
It occurs to her, as her voice calls out over the room (louder than she intended) that she may be a little bit drunker than she thought. He notices her, which isn’t that hard (this is obviously the first time anyone in this bar has been in the same room as a Lanvin cocktail dress) and after a moment of looking confused he approaches her.  
  
“Depends, what’s the joke?”  
  
“Why are you in San Francisco?” she doesn’t want him to charm her. The way she’s feeling tonight there’s a chance it may actually work. “Are you  _stalking_  me? Because I have news for you George Wickham, I don’t hate myself that much”  
  
He looks momentarily hurt and Caroline rolls her eyes.  
  
“You’re kind of a bitch”  
  
“ _DingDingDingDingDing_ ”  
  
Even if her enthusiasm is sarcastic, she’s still loud and happy to find herself not all that embarrassed by it. She would be lying if the thought hasn’t crossed her mind, but as soon as it does she reminds herself she’s in a dive bar with George Wickham for company so she really needn’t be concerned with such trivial matters. She wants to be vicious and cruel and George Wickham is the perfect candidate. She has never cared less for a one person’s opinion.  
  
It almost makes her glad when he slides into the seat next to her.  
  
“Ok what is your problem?”  
  
She almost snorts out her drink.

(Yes, she is definitely drunk now)

“‘What is  _my_  problem’?”  He doesn’t appear to get what she’s implying with a simple look “You either don’t remember taking a big fat check to leave Gigi alone and almost posting a sex tape on the internet or you’re a complete sociopath. Oh and you use demeaning unoriginal nicknames.  _Peach? Really?_ ”  
  
He stares at his hands for a second and if it were anyone else she would assume he’s feeling some level of remorse.  
  
“Look-”  
  
“No you look” Caroline snaps at him and he stops talking but doesn’t look at her “no actually look at me”  
  
After a second he meets her gaze, but it appears to be only out of spite. Good. That makes what she’s about to say even easier.  
  
“I do not want to hear your sob story and I am never ever going to take your side, so it would be better if you just owned up to doing a series of really shitty things and we both moved on with our evening, Ok?”  
  
Once more there’s a sheen behind his eyes that looks like a challenge. He remains in his seat turning to the bar, flagging down the bartender for a drink and saying, in a tone that is much less charming than any he has used before.  
  
“You really are a bitch”  
  
“Believe me the sentiment is mutual” she shoots him the closest thing she can manage to a withering glare in her current state and considers switching to water for a drink or two.  
  
“You’d still sleep with me though”  
  
He still raises the hairs on the back of her neck. He’s still the guy who almost completely ruined the lives of a number of undeserving people.  
  
(There’s a little part of her brain that reminds her that she’s very capable of removing feelings from the equation when it comes to sex, and maybe she lingers on the idea for a moment longer than necessary)  
  
Her face remains passive as she stares long and hard at the liquor selection.  
  
“This is hardly the time to discuss your delusions” 

 

\---

 

They end up having sex in the bathroom at 2:30 in the morning even though she has her own hotel room. Caroline starts it because, yes, she would still sleep with him, and she’s not waiting around until he's charmed her into it. It’s on her terms. And so what if she’s drunk when she makes the decision? Part of her making it that way is knowing that George Wickham is not the kind of guy to stop and see if she’s sure she wants to. It reminds her why she hates him and makes the sex that much easier.It’s sweaty, sticky and she pours vitriol into the few kisses they share. Feels the denim of his jeans chafing her with every movement and enjoys it. It’s hasty and messy and everything she expected from a quicky in the bathroom of a dive bar. 

Afterwards Caroline takes a second to straighten herself, fix her hair and apply a layer of sheer gloss to her lips. She still looks like a girl who’s made a stupid decision, but at least she’s a well dressed one. 

 

\---

  
A few hours later Caroline wakes up in her hotel room with a text from Bing (“R U feeling better? Brunch?”) a headache that makes her see through time and space and the dull relisation that she now has George Wickham’s phone number.    
  
“Whoops”, is the only word that comes to mind.


	4. Kiss Me Hard Before You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caroline doesn’t realise she’s gotten into the habit of sleeping with George Wickham till she’s roughly three months into it.
> 
> She texts him, he comes over, they have messy (sometimes drunk, often surprisingly good) sex and Caroline tells him to show himself out as she jumps in the shower.
> 
> It probably says something that she doesn’t even like the person she’s sleeping with, but she chooses not to examine it too closely.

Caroline arrives in LA the afternoon after the engagement party, goes back to her apartment, unpacks her things and sits on the end of her freshly made bed for twenty whole seconds before she even thinks about being ashamed of the previous night. Part of her brain recalls sunshine yellow silk and one sided bubbly ramblings of the night before, then of the same voice shaking and shattering on an ap demo and Caroline feels for a short desperate moment, thoroughly sick of herself.

She tries to remember the feeling of power that came with making a thoroughly stupid decision. It was her decision. She was doing something reckless, and she knows, even if she regrets it, that it felt good.

(It’s also nice to know that rather than being charmed into bed with him like everyone else she decided to fuck him up against a hand dryer in a dive bar. Even if her brain has to make twists and turns to get there she feels proud about that.)

The evening slowly begins to form a clearer picture as her day progresses. She can almost physically feel him nibbling into her neck again when she undresses for a shower and gets a good look at the marks he left there. Hazily remembers fixing her makeup, and walking straight out of the bar not looking back.

She had forgotten her phone, in her rush to leave, and it’s only as she steps out of the scalding water and is hit with momentary chill that she remembers standing on the sidewalk, trying to hail a cab. He had run out after her and tried to get her attention.

It wasn’t until he had actually waved the lit up screen in her face that she had realised what he was trying to do.

and it’s only as she lays in bed, feeling tangled up on the inside that she remembers.

( _“I’m going to be back in LA in a week or two”._

_“Do you want my well wishes?”_

_“I thought I might look you up”_

_She had laughed once, harshly, the sound almost ripping the smug expression right off his face “Good luck with that”_

_“You could make my job easier and give me a call”_

_Her eyes rolled, a cab pulled up and she gave her response as a farewell whilst sliding into the back seat “Not likely”_ )

…

She doesn’t delete his number.

She finds herself staring at it in her phone whenever Lucy, Henrietta and Agusta build on the catalogue of glaringly annoying personality flaws they have between them.

She considers scrawling it on a bathroom wall somewhere downtown.

But she doesn’t delete it.

…

“You’ve reached Caroline Lee, unfortunately I can’t come to the phone right now but leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible”

“Hey Caroline it’s Bing. Jane and I were going to head out to LA for a couple of days so we’d love to get dinner or drinks with you if you have the time, give me a call back when you get this ok? Bye!”

Caroline listens to the message at eleven in the morning on a Wednesday rubbing sleep out of her eyes, wrapped in her sheets.

The light is still taxing her sight and she drops her phone onto her bed, stretching her arms up above her head and letting out a deep groan.

Well, It’s not like she doesn’t have the time.

…

“What have you been up to?”

It’s a conversation she dreads, and after a indiscernible pause Caroline smiles over her salad and lies again.

If Bing realises he doesn’t say anything, but she notices when dinner is over that he’s about as close to pensive as possible when there’s still a smile on his face. Jane is doing the polite thing and thanking her for coming out with them and he seems to be deep in thought as he flags down a cab.

Caroline’s phone vibrates in her clutch as the three of them pull out from the curb.

She knows it’s going to be Lucy, asking her if she’s joining them for drinks. It occurs to her that she would literally rather do anything than sit down and listen to those girls talk about their lives but she checks anyway.

She’s correct, of course.

Scrolling through her phone, half looking for a number that she’s not going to call and half trying to find a way to kill the time, she’s startled out of her distraction when Bing asks:

“So you’re just heading home right?”

“Looks like it”

Leaning forward she offers directions to the cab driver in the polite silky voice that she’s been using for years, before sitting back and asking a couple more questions about Bing’s charity work, the label Jane’s working for, what its like staying permanently in Netherfield, a series of questions that get them talking and stop Bing from looking at her like a confused retriever puppy.

They light up when they talk about their lives and Caroline wants to believe its a lie. That no one is actually that happy. This sort of thing was much easier when she had someone who agreed with her. There’s a pang of something embarrassing in her chest but resolves that she’s not going to think about it.

“Just this left up here”

She jumps out of the cab 15 seconds later and waves at Bing and Jane through the window.

She suddenly is struck with the memory of her college graduation, jumping out of a cab flanked with Bing and Darcy, feeling warm and a little bit tipsy. She was never all that idealistic about her future, her mother’s cynical pragmatism was one of the many things Caroline had inherited, but she remembers a moment, after the three of them had turned to walk up to Bing’s apartment, where she just felt completely happy. Happy that she had graduated, happy that she had her brother happy she had a friend who understood her and who knew to look out for her much more trusting brother

It was years ago, but for the second it flashes in her mind it feels like longer. It couldn’t have possibly even come from the same life she’s living in. Although she remembers immediately after the feeling of happiness was replaced with a moment of terror that she could ever lose them and that seems to sit very snugly in with the rest of it.

She’s not going to think about it.

The cab pulls away, Caroline clenches something internally and sends a text containing her address and the words:

“This is your one hour notice”

George is in her bed removing his clothing and roughly pawing at her underwear within 45 minutes.

...

Caroline doesn’t realise she’s gotten into the habit of sleeping with George Wickham till she’s roughly three months into it.

She texts him, he comes over, they have messy (sometimes drunk, often surprisingly good) sex and Caroline tells him to show himself out as she jumps in the shower.

It probably says something that she doesn’t even like the person she’s sleeping with, but she chooses not to examine it too closely.

…

“You know I’m beginning to feel kind of used here”

There’s a lot of things that Caroline doesn’t like immediately after sex. Unsurprisingly George Wickham likes to try and indulge in at least one of them every time he comes over. The words hang between them for a moment. He almost looks optimistic until she manages to arrange her tired sweaty face into a look that clearly illustrates how ridiculous the notion is.

“Well that would be because I am using you”

The one thing Caroline really likes about the whole setup is that she doesn’t have to be polite. She doesn’t have to grit her teeth as she smiles and force smooth warmth into her voice when they talk. God, she doesn’t even have to talk to him she doesn’t want to.

Though he sometimes has other ideas about this.

“Ouch”

She rolls her eyes, pushes herself out of bed and pulls her hair off her sweaty neck.

“Please, I think we’re both beyond pretending there are feelings here that aren’t directly related to easily acquired sex”

“Easy for you maybe” He stretches out in her bed, looking far too comfortable for someone she’s throwing out in less than five minutes time, she picks up his T-shirt (on the floor next to her bed) and tosses it at him as he continues “I haven’t been able to get you to come to my place”

“There’s a reason for that”

“God you’re a bitch”

“I feel like we’ve covered this before”

She’s headed towards the bathroom and doesn’t even look over her shoulder when she adds “I’m showering and you won’t be here when I’m done”

She emerges 15 minutes later wrapped in a towel and he’s gone. A lonely sort of satisfied courses through her before she drops her towel and gets dressed for nothing.

…

“Caroline! I’m glad I caught you”

George Wickham is negotiating her bra clasp when she answers the phone and Caroline slaps his hand away, scoots down the bed and smiles into the phone.

“Hey Bing, do you mind if I call you back tomorrow?”

“Sure, are you ok?”

“I’m fine just a little busy at the moment”

There’s a bit of a pause at the end of the line. It says what Bing won't

(What on earth would _you_ be busy with?)

“Alright well I’ll talk to you later”

“Bye”

She’s braless and tangled up in George less than thirty seconds after she discards her phone.  His stubble is wreaking havoc at that point on her neck that she’s still annoyed he found so easily.

They’re done with the main event in twenty minutes time and he shows himself out when she’s in the shower.

...

It gradually turns into routine.

Until one day he remains on her bed for the entirety of her shower and doesn’t leave until they’ve taken ten minutes worth of petty jabs at each other.

It gets her heart rate up faster than she cares to admit. Part of not having to be polite leaves her pulse ringing in her ears. It’s not that she’s angry, it’s that she’s annoyed that he’s still laying on her pristine white bed sheets.

…

“Hey Caroline it’s Bing, just checking in. It’s been a while! give me a call back when you’ve got a chance?”

...

“How does it feel to have everyone’s worst assumptions about you be true?”

It‘s a swipe at him, he’s getting too chatty and he’s somehow managed to have the majority of her comments about him roll off his back. She just wants to shut him up more than anything else.

“I don’t know” He lounges on her bed, even though she was out of the shower a good 20 minutes before “Why don’t you let me know in a couple of weeks”

An eyeroll, a hair toss, Caroline looks down at him and refuses to acknowledge the drop in her stomach.

“Is that when you plan on getting out of my apartment?”

...

The first time she lets George sleepover is because it’s three in the morning and she’s had too much wine actually argue with him. They remain very firmly on their own sides of the bed and true to form, he leaves the next day while she’s in the shower.

She tells herself it's just that one time

It shouldn’t be a surprise that it happens again

It shouldn’t surprise her that it eventually develops into a habit.

…

“Caroline, it’s Bing, call me back?”

…

She’s woken up on a Sunday morning by three sharp raps on her front door. This is strange for a number of reasons. The first of is that it’s a sunday morning, the second is that there’s no way to get to her front door without having a building key and the third is that it is _a Sunday morning_. She’s not expecting anyone, she hasn’t given her address out to Lucy, Augusta or Henrietta for fairly obvious reasons and George who is already passed out on the bed next to her is dangerously close to encroaching on her personal space.

There’s an almost empty bottle of scotch sitting on her coffee table and she can practically feel it seeping out of her pores. Her pulse is pounding in her forehead and her stomach has the kind of unsettled nausea that automatically makes her think of her brother's wedding. For a second or two she remains horizontal before one more triplet of knocks forces her out of bed. It occurs to her then that she’s naked.

She grabs fresh underwear and throws on the nearest item of clothing she can find that covers everything it needs to. George’s T-shit, naturally.

Part of her is half convinced it’s one of her perpetually absent neighbours coming to tell her to keep the noise down or that they need her to water their plants while they're overseas (apparently her hypothetical neighbours are too stingy to just hire a gardener like everyone else) which is why she’s not all that concerned with how she looks when she throws open the door.

Darcy stands in front of her, two coffees in hand and Caroline’s stomach drops to her buildings sub basement.

“Triple Americano? I wasn’t sure if you changed your coffee order”

“Thankyou”

The weird thing is that Caroline isn’t even panicking, her headache and confusion as to why the hell Darcy is standing at her front door with coffee is using up all of her facilities. She takes the offered beverage and has a swig, trying to school her face into an expression that isn’t hungover bewilderment. Although, the more she thinks about it, the more she’s realising that she has every right to be confused right now.

“Why are you here?” She’s suddenly very aware of the amount she smoked the previous night and she takes a second to clear her throat ”Not that I don’t appreciate the coffee, I always appreciate coffee”

She takes another sip to give Darcy time to answer but is mostly listening to what is going on in her apartment behind her.

“I’m in LA for a couple of meetings” He looks incredibly uncomfortable as he very pointedly doesn’t bring up the fact she’s not currently wearing pants “Bing suggested I might drop by”

Bing _would_ suggest it. Caroline wonders when the last time was that someone decided to interact with her outside of obligation for a second before sipping some more of her coffee and choosing not to think about it too hard.

It’s amazing how much of her life is spent doing that.

“Oh” Is the only response she can manage to formulate,

He offers an awkward half smile, it’s not like the smirks they would exchange at the height of their friendship, it’s not the stupid grin he gets on his face whenever he and Lizzie are in the same room, but it makes her think that maybe the coffee is an olive branch and that there’s the slightest, slightest chance she might get her friend back.

Her optimism is cut short as she finally registers movement behind her and the smile disappears from Darcy’s face.

“I’m going to need my shirt back”

Her gaze has dropped to the floor before George even opens his mouth. She could see Darcy’s face change from stoic confusion to terse entirely justified anger.

George is at her shoulder dressed only in jeans and offers a nonchalant wave at the man whose life he spends way too much time trying to ruin.

“Darcy, what’s up?”

Furious silence is his only response and Caroline looks back at the idiotic asshole who she’s been sleeping with as a dull sadness settles into the pit of her stomach.

“You can leave”

He goes to say something, stops for a second and then starts on a different tact.

“I don’t have any money for a cab”

She wants to slap him, but knows he’s going to hang around until she relents.

“My purse is on the coffee table”

He disappears back into her apartment and in the seconds he’s gone the coffee she’s clutching grows very heavy. Darcy is silent and completely still.

Part of her wants to be ashamed, to apologise, but she cant’t quite form the words, and doesn’t know if she’d even say them if she could. George returns, kisses her on the cheek before she has a chance to move her head away and saunters down the hallway.

“I suppose you’ll want to lecture me?”

It’s not even close to an apology, but Darcy is so serious and so quiet that it makes her want to goad him into an argument. She always did enjoy ruffling his feathers.

“I don’t quite know what to say”

“It was just sex”

“And you think that makes it ok?”

Caroline can practically taste the self righteous judgement in his voice through her headache. She’s looking straight at him now, refusing to break eye contact, knowing that if she does this person who she’s barely spoken to in the past couple of months will get the high ground and she’ll be forced to feel bad about it.

“Well normally I don’t let him sleep over” She’s pretty sure she only says it because she wants him to yell.

“' _Normally'_?”

“I doubt it makes that much of a difference to you”

They don’t exactly fight, but Caroline tells him that he’s not allowed to judge her life because _when was the last time they had a conversation that wasn’t started on an obligation_ and Darcy brings up Gigi and Lydia and lists the long catalogue of horrible things George has done to the people he cares about.

“Well lucky for you I don’t think I really fall under that category”

He’s silent to that and she continues

“I’m not going to apologise”

She can see his face slowly shut on her before he issues a terse farewell and walks back down the hallway.

At least he knows when he’s lost.

Caroline takes of George’s shirt the second she closes the front door and looks around at the slight disarray her apartment is still in from the previous night.

The only thing going through her brain is ‘good’ and ‘about time’ and other stupid spiteful things she’s been not thinking about for years. Something about knowing he hates her now leaves her angry and satisfied and that’s what she focuses on. Not the fact she’s alone with her headache and a coffee when for the briefest second it had seemed like things were going to get better.

She ends up pouring her coffee down the sink and crawling back into bed repeating the sentiments on a loop as she stares at the ceiling.

Good.

_It’s about time._


	5. when it all comes crashing down on you little girl

Caroline had received her invite to the wedding weeks ago, had RSVPed only after Gigi had called her about it, and now she’s spending most of her time trying to figure out how to get out of going.

She passes the entire day after her confrontation with Darcy waiting for a phone call that’s going to give her an out. Maybe Darcy will tell Gigi what she’s done and all she’ll get is a text telling her not to go. Maybe they’ll make Bing break it to her over the phone. Either way, she doesn’t expect to end up attending, and doesn’t expect that they’re going to miss her all that much when her chicken course goes uneaten.

Maybe they’ll even get to save some money on the champagne.

The invite is sitting on her kitchen counter next to the empty takeaway coffee cup she hasn’t thrown out and she can feel it staring at her.

…

She returns George’s T-shirt a few days later and they end up having sex in his apartment for the first time while his housemates play Xbox in the next room.

Well, they almost do.

They get about half-way through the process and all she can do is listen to the sounds of artificial gunfire going off a few feet away from her and she can’t stop staring at the cracks in the ceiling. She pushes him off, swings her legs off the bed and looks at her feet for a second. Her bare toes press into the greying carpet and someone in the other room gets their head blown off to loud groans of protest and George tries to figure out what the fuck just went wrong there.

“What?” He sounds snappy, and petulant in a way that he hasn’t in a long time (god how long have they even been sleeping together?) and Caroline doesn’t respond. Her toes curl under and splay out and she can see the invite on her kitchen bench and she really wants some coffee.

She can feel George readjusting his position on his bed and his lips search for that point on her neck but all she can do is push him off again. The entire room smells like him and she vaguely feels like she’s being suffocated by it

“Get off me”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” He sits back, very clearly irritated that he’s not still having sex and there is a flare of rage in Caroline that would frighten her if it was directed towards anyone but George Wickham.

“You know what? _Fuck you_ ”

She stands, pulls her dress back on, picks up her shoes and leaves.

Caroline has never felt more like a bad stereotype in her life.

...

She ends up going to the wedding. God knows why.

Maybe she thinks the whole thing will have blown over.

Maybe she wants to ruin Darcy’s Big Day just by being there.

Maybe she wants to find out if Gigi even knows.

For whatever reason, she packs a bag and heads to San Fransisco again.

…

The wedding is held in a beautiful old house just outside of the city, Bing and Jane have organised a place for them to stay for the weekend and Caroline spends the half hour before the ceremony sipping on a drink with perfect posture listening to Catherine lament her nephew’s taste in women, occasionally making sympathetic noises to keep any questions about her own life at bay.

Darcy barely acknowledges her when he comes over to greet his Aunt.

“Break a leg up there” She offers the advice a little too smoothly, with a polite smile she knows doesn’t meet her eyes.

He clears his throat, expression still as closed as it had been two weeks ago, thanks her and walks back to his spot up the end of the isle.

…

The ceremony is beautiful. Everyone says so.

The bride looks stunning (her dress makes her look even shorter than she is) and the groom has never looked happier and everything goes smoothly.

(The youngest Bennet sister shoots one glance Caroline’s way as everyone makes their way back down the aisle and she knows in that second that Lizzie isn’t as fond of keeping things from her younger sister as Darcy is)

…

It’s something about wedding receptions and champagne.

The party goes for hours. Hours of dancing. Hours of chatting. Hours of people generally being happy with the state of the tiny little universe they’ve created for themselves.

All she wants to do is scream.

Scream and chain smoke a pack of cigarettes.

She figures she could probably get away with both of them if she finds a corner of the grounds that’s secluded enough.

...

Its the closest thing to a conversation with Lizzie she ends up in all night.

Caroline doesn’t mean to overhear it, that’s for sure, but she walks outside and the conversation drifts towards her over the sound of the cheesy wedding music and it stops her in her tracks.

“It’s like she did it out of spite, and now she’s here snarking about me in the corner with Catherine, I mean seriously? Why is she even here?”

The worst part isn’t that Caroline has no answer about her motives (maybe she just enjoys feeling like she’s aggressively outside of everything) it’s what Jane says next that is much, much worse.

“People don’t act like that because they’re happy Lizzie”

The bride responds with something snippy but concedes because she doesn’t want it to ruin their night, but Caroline has already spun on her heel and walked away. She wants to believe that Jane’s tone is nothing but pity. She wants to be annoyed at her for assuming that she’s unhappy. She want’s to be able to disagree. Her life is fabulous. Pointless but fabulous.

Caroline can’t even think the sentence without wanting to simultaneously laugh and cry and the noise that escapes her throat for a second is an odd combination of the two before she manages to jam her mouth shut against it.

She’s not happy.

It’s something she’s known in an abstract sense ever since she jumped in that cab and hopped on a plane to New York this time last year. It just took someone else saying it for Caroline to really understand what it means.

She’s miserable and angry and everything that lead her to this point has been her own fault.

Maybe she even did it on purpose.

…

The thought plagues her as she gets herself another drink, finds herself once again standing with Catherine De Bourgh, listens to the woman lord over every conversation she joins.

“Oh Caroline it pains me so much that this woman has married into the Darcy family. I don’t consider myself a paragon of feminism, but her obstinate inability to take his name, as if ‘Bennet’ is any better, shows a level of self centeredness I cannot even fathom. She has an opportunity to remove herself from this line of embarrassment by taking a name that means something in the world” The woman scratches her wheezing dog behind the ears and Caroline for a moment feels like she might throw up. What Catherine means is more than implied, as she has said it numerous times when just the two of them had the chance to speak.

_It should have been you._

And maybe it should have. But she fucked up.

_(Maybe she even did it on purpose)_

No, Caroline definitely feels like she’s going to be sick.

…

She manages to excuse herself to go to the bathroom and by the time she gets there, her effort to keep a straight face has caused her hands to shake. She’s spilling expensive champagne on the bathroom floor before she decides to just leave the crystal flute next to the sink.

Caroline can’t avoid catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Pristine, polished, even locked in a room by herself her face is the picture of slightly superior tranquility. She feels so completely detached from this vision of herself that she has to bring her hands up to touch her unmoving face to make certain it’s actually her staring into the mirror. Not just a doppelganger who’s stolen her dress. Her vision swims and she feels less like she’s going to empty her stomach and more like there is an entire family of obese midwesterners sitting on her chest.

She momentarily tries to find it funny but the laugh that breathlessly escapes quickly changes into something broken that sounds like it was ripped from her, and suddenly she’s breathing sharp short breaths and can’t bring herself to stop.

Every stupid little decision she’s ever made is playing in a choppily edited montage in front of her eyes. Manipulating Lizzie into abusing Darcy on camera, feeling satisfied when the youngest Bennet was emotionally torn to shreds, the slow boiling rage of watching someone she considered an ally-a friend taking Lizzie’s side. Frank Fucking Churchill and vomiting in a bridesmaid dress and seeing Darcy’s expression harden and close as George Wickham strolls out of her apartment on a Sunday morning. Watching the dark coffee swirl slowly down her kitchen sink.

She still wants to be sick, but it’s difficult to find the time as she grips the basin and continues to live through the less than pleasant experience of being unable to catch her breath, eyes are fixated on the drain but she doesn’t really see it.

Every gasp is coming with an embarrassing harsh sobbing noise that she tries hard to suppress but refuses to be silenced.

She stops for a second, forces herself to take one deep drawn out breath, forces her eyes shut, forces herself to not cry. She’s not going to cry. She’s not-

There’s a knock at the door.

Caroline slaps a hand over her mouth and refuses to answer.

“Caroline”

It’s Jane. _Of course_ its Jane.

“Caroline I know you’re in there”

She tries to pull herself together but she’s pretty sure there are bits scattered all over California that’s she’s she’s never going to get back, so it’s mostly pointless.

“I’m not leaving till you open the door”

Caroline isn’t sure why she concedes. Maybe she thinks she’ll be able to pull it together for long enough to convince Jane to mind her own business. Maybe something in her tone tells Caroline that her sister in law means what she says.

Either way, she pushes the door open, tries to look like her life isn’t scattered and broken on the bathroom floor.

“What do you want Jane?” is what she wants to say. She wants to spit it out, to condescend. To feel in this moment that she can at least pretend to look down on someone from the hole she has dug herself into. But Jane’s looking at her with a steady and surprisingly stern expression. She’s not going to be brushed aside, and Caroline can’t maintain eye contact for long enough to win this staredown.

“Look I’m-” her voice catches, shakes embarrassingly then breaks entirely and the word “fine” ends up sounding like a question.

“Caroline” her tone is softer this time and it awakens something vicious in her.

“I don’t want your pity” Her voice is still shaking so the words come out at breakneck speed “I fucked up, a lot, I did that, and you feeling sorry for me or whatever it is you’re doing right now isn’t going to change it”

Jane remains silent so she plows on, gaining momentum, words spilling out at a rate that’s hard to keep track of.

“I’m the idiot who made friends with people she can’t stand and drinks on weeknights and sleeps with George Wickham everytime she gets angry because she knows it’s going to end badly so I don’t need you feeling bad about things happening to me”

_(Maybe she even did it on purpose)_

“I made it happen. I’m not some _victim_ ” It feels like a contradiction as she says it, but she’s hardly going to let that stop her “So you can stop looking at me like that ok I don’t need your pity- _ohmygodIcan’tbreathe_ ”

It comes out in a run on sentence ending with a gasp as her body attempts to stop the room from swaying, Caroline lurches and suddenly finds herself grasping the door frame. A soft but firm hand guides her to a seated position, the door closes and she begins to see stars.

The only words that come out between quick tiny breaths are “I fucked up” and finally, mercifully, tears begin to stream down her perfect, pristine face.

It like every sob that escapes her has been ripped from her chest and the hollow spot has instead been stuffed full of humiliation and burning lead. She wants to claw at it until is stops . Her head is pounding so she forces her eyes shut against the light of the bathroom and the stars that are still swarming her vision.

To her credit Jane remains silent and slowly “I fucked up” is joined by “and I’m stuck” and eventually “I have no one” is tacked on the end for good measure.

“Caroline you need to breath slowly ok?”

She tries. She really tries.

Jane begins coaching her through each breath and eventually she slows down. Her throat feels raw and her head throbs but her breathing does slow down to a point where she becomes completely aware of what a mess she is, sitting up against a bathroom wall, sobbing with a sister-in-law who is being way too nice to her. The burning pile of lead in her chest cools and instead she just feels heavy and numb.

Her tears don’t stop and Jane stands, says something about getting her a glass of water and disappears.

She’s too exhausted to move from her spot so she stays still, thick fat tears continuing to roll down her face. How? Is the word playing on a loop in her head.

How did she get to this point without realising it?

How did she wind up alone on the bathroom floor of William Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet’s wedding?

What the fuck happened?

Footsteps sound down the hallway and Caroline doesn’t have it in her to make herself presentable. She’s staring at her knees and thick fat tears are still rolling down her face when the door swings open.

She expects Jane.

She doesn’t expect who’s she’s brought with her.

“Caroline?”

Her first thought is that she doesn’t want her brother to see her like this. But that’s more or less bust by the time she looks up at him. Her eyes lock on his and she can tell that he knows everything.

She shrugs and lets out what could be an embarrassed sigh of laughter if everything didn’t hurt so much.

It’s humiliating. She’s spent years trying to keep him out of harms way and now she’s fucked up worse that he ever did. This is what she actually is. A broken stupid girl sitting on the bathroom floor unable to stop herself from crying. It’s a rude enough shock to her system that this is what she’s really like and she can’t imagine what Bing thinks.

She doesn’t have to, because less than a fraction of a second later he’s on the floor with her pulling her into a hug and Caroline feels her chest heave once before she’s sobbing again.

She can’t even get the words out this time.

...

_(“Jane could you let Darcy know I’m leaving...?”_

_“Do you want me to...?”_

_“No you stay, Lizzie wants you here”_

_“You’re sure?”_

_“Yeah”)_

…

Caroline ends up falling asleep on the couch in an old sweatshirt Bing packed for reasons that probably didn’t include ‘consoling his emotionally ruined sister’ and wakes up the next morning with a freshly brewed mug of earl grey sitting on the end table next to her. Jane’s doing. Naturally.

She’s not much of a tea drinker, and there’s way too much sugar in it.

She drinks half of it anyway.

 


	6. Floating neither up or down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows it should feel nice to be looked after, and somewhere in a hypothetical version of the world, where she doesn’t use hating everyone else as a way to distract from how much she dislikes herself, it is nice. But it isn’t hypothetical, and she can still feel that lead ball sitting heavy in her chest and it causes her perfect posture to slouch, so instead she just feels vaguely claustrophobic as she watches Bing crinkle his eyes at the french documentary she’s chosen. 
> 
> There is a very large chance he has no idea what’s going on.
> 
> But he is trying.

Bing does everything she expects of him the days following the wedding. Plies her with coffee, lets her pick the movies they watch, doesn’t make her talk about anything she doesn’t want to.

She knows it should feel nice to be looked after, and somewhere in a hypothetical version of the world, where she doesn’t use hating everyone else as a way to distract from how much she dislikes herself, it is nice. But it isn’t hypothetical, and she can still feel that lead ball sitting heavy in her chest and it causes her perfect posture to slouch, so instead she just feels vaguely claustrophobic as she watches Bing crinkle his eyes at the french documentary she’s chosen.

There is a very large chance he has no idea what’s going on.

But he is trying.

...

She spends a week with Bing and Jane in the lovely house they rented out for the wedding.

_JaneAndBing._

(people really do say it like it’s one word a lot of the time)

Her brother tiptoes around her so much she ends up suggesting they watch a horrible movie that stars Vin Diesel because she knows that they’ll both hate it.

She doesn’t expect to end up laughing hysterically half way through.

Here is the truth:

The movie is probably the worst one Caroline has ever seen.

Bing doesn’t like action films.

There is one ridiculous line of dialogue that they both pretend not to notice.

It only really takes half a second of eye contact afterwards to bring them down.

...

She laughs so hard her chest hurts and hot tears squeeze out of her eyes.

She’s breathless and about as close to sprawled on the couch she’s been since she was 12.

Her chest is still heavy. It hasn’t gone away. But she’s surprised to learn it’s not impossible to laugh around.

It’s not much. But it’s something.

...

BingAndJane offer to let her stay with them in Netherfield for longer.

Caroline quickly declines the offer. There is no where in the world she’d least like to spend her time.

(It’s not about Bing and Jane)

(It’s about everything else)

...

She spends the first night in her own apartment staring at the ceiling and seriously considering vacuuming the place. This is very odd for a number of reasons. The first of which is that Caroline has never vacuumed a thing in her life. The second is that she’s not even sure if she owns a vacuum.

She thinks about the methodical process she’d hypothetically employ to most thoroughly clean her apartment and wakes up considering buying a steam mop.

The idea is in her head for less than a second before she pushes herself out of bed and comes to the conclusion that she needs to do something.

Something that isn’t cleaning an apartment that already has a weekly maid service.

She can’t do anything about the deep, gluey weight in her chest, but the listlessness of unemployment, hours of being alone with her thoughts, it’s not something she needs right now. She needs to be busy. There is a very small list of things for her to do in her own apartment that effectively keep her occupied. Her desk is moved from one side of the room to the other (she doesn’t like the new spot but is in no way prepared for the physical labour required to return it) she looks up paint swatches and briefly considers deviating from her sparse white colour scheme before shutting her laptop.

...

“I need a job”

Bing said to call him. So she gives it a try that afternoon.

“You could ask mom to help you out”

She looks down at her toes, familiar frustration pulling at her chest, exhales hard out of her nose.

“That’s not what I meant”

...

Half a week of listlessness spent painting her toenails and listening to crooners and re-reading american classics later she finds herself at a lunch with Henrietta, Augusta and Lucy.

They’re all as obnoxiously happy as when she left them. Not that she’s surprised.

Henrietta is on her third scotch and soda and Lucy is rummaging through a knock off bag when Augusta comes out with “I don’t know I think he might be it for me” she stops what she’s doing and looks, with some melodrama into the distance “ _The One_ ”

The other two are excited for her and Caroline adds something that sounds sincere enough before looking at the trio.

‘acceptable and slightly less glamorous than herself’

She still thinks those things are true (she has also added ‘completely ridiculous’ and ‘inappropriately loud in cafes’ to the list) but they’re also happy. Flawed and happy. Irritating and happy.

Maybe it’s just easier for some people. Like playing the violin and photography, being happy is just one of those things she doesn’t have a knack for.

“How was the wedding Caroline? I can’t believe I didn’t ask yet”

“It was lovely” A tight lipped smile accompanies the lie and she takes a swig of her drink only to remember she got tonic and lime and it’s not going to do much besides hydrate her.

“I saw some of the pictures” Henrietta stabs at her ceasar salad casually.

“Oh yes” Lucy frowns a little “The groom looks so uncomfortable in the ones they released”

“And I can’t say I’m all that fond of the dress” Henrietta gestures with her fork (now spearing a slightly soggy crouton) shrugging a little “I mean strapless is so...”

“Exactly” Augusta flags down a waitress “Honestly Carrie, the whole thing was a bit of an eyesore”

It wasn’t. An eyesore. Even through the bitter haze of the entire evening she remembers it was tasteful. Bland, and someone had let the mother of the bride have free reign of the flower arrangements (which was generally proven to be a bad idea), but it wasn’t ugly.

She’s still mulling over their critiques as they exit the cafe and Henrietta loops her arm through Caroline’s.

“We’re on your side you know”  She says quietly.

When Caroline just blinks at her (she didn't realise that they were even aware there was a _side_ to be _on_ ) she lets out a little chuckle and nudges her in a sort of fond way that Caroline is pretty sure they’re not comfortable enough with each other to pull off just yet before walking up to join the other two.

“ _God_ don’t look so surprised”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this is much shorter and achieved a lot less than I wanted it to, but I've been sitting on it for so long I figured I should just post it to gain some momentum again.
> 
> There's still a few more chapters to go. Enjoy.


	7. on a new shore line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out Caroline Lee does do jealousy.
> 
> She forces herself to understand this. To examine it. To look at it in all of it’s ugly pettiness.
> 
> If she is jealous that means she wants something.
> 
> She’s not so naive to think that simply knowing the concrete fact that she wants to be happy is going to change much, but she determines, that night as she scrubs off her makeup and stares at her raw clean skin, that it’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I used my hate-fire for the most recent episode of Emma Approved to finish off the tail end of this chapter.
> 
> There should be at least one more coming next.
> 
> A note about what is considered 'AU' as far as this fic is concerned: Mr. Elton does not get engaged to Caroline, Gigi does not go the Sanditon at the time that she does in the series, but gets half way through her post grad and decides it's what she'd rather be doing, I repeat, Caroline Lee does not get engaged to Mr. Elton. Oh god I am so irritated.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

Caroline walks home from brunch. It's a beautiful day and its not like she has anywhere to be so she gives herself it. The sharp LA sun beats down on her, an envelope of warmth cut refreshingly with the occasional cool breeze.

Something in her chest is still unsettled as she walks. The scoffing voice of Henrietta echos in her head.

_"God don't look so surprised"_

Like Caroline was just supposed to know they had been paying attention to every eye roll and (apparently not so smooth) lie that slipped out of her lips.

Maybe she's just not as good at reading people as she thinks.

The unsettled feeling lingers. It lingers as she walks down her road. It lingers as she approaches her building. It's only as she nods at her door man and ducks into the elevator that it becomes clear why.

It's only when people take her side that it becomes sharply apparent that they are wrong to do so.

Caroline is petty, Caroline holds grudges and thinks snide cruel things to herself when other people are happy. No one should be on the same side as someone like that, but they are.

It occurs to her that she should add "very poor judges of character" to the list of flaws she has catalogued about that particular group of girls but stops herself before she can finish the thought.

It only occurs to her then that maybe, that's just what friends do.

She'll never admit it but the thought brings the ghost of a smile to her face as she sinks into her couch.

...

She meets up with them a few days later and finds and odd degree of fondness behind her lips as Lucy flags her down and Henrietta gestures to the Martini she's got waiting for her. She indulges the feeling for a second, takes a sip of her drink and then Augusta shoves a mediocre diamond ring under her nose and starts shrieking about it.

The feeling evaporates instantly and instead Caroline is hit with a wave of deep, bitter annoyance that is so strong she can almost taste it along side the gin in her drink.

"Congratulations"  the word slips out of her mouth naturally now. She's constantly saying it to other people.

The others titter around her and Caroline contemplates her martini, the cold condensation that wets her fingers as she picks it up and actively fights the urge to down it in two gulps. She manages a few more empty phrases, standard questions about dates and colour stories before she finishes her drink in a respectable amount of time and excuses herself for a cigarette.

...

She’s the only person standing out there, dragging on the end of it, watching the smoke dance and wander through the sky before dissipating. It’s quieter than she’s used to in the city so despite her previous efforts to the contrary, Caroline takes a moment to slowly consider exactly how it is she feels.

This proves to be more difficult than she anticipates and she’s grinding her cigarette into an ashtray before she makes much progress. She has an idea about herself, that she can look at things that are uncomfortable or ugly or obscene and not flinch. That she can even get a sort of satisfaction or pride out of her ability to do so, but it’s occurring to her now how easy she finds it to gloss over the uglier truths about herself.

She acknowledges them of course (she hasn’t described herself as ‘nice’ in a good long while) but then she pushes them back, actively avoids looking at every detail and facet of why it is she feels and acts certain ways, it’s like dodging her own gaze in the mirror.

When she finds herself caught off guard and she’s forced to look…

Caroline recalls clutching a sink and being unable to breathe and shakes it from her head.

Walking back to the bar, she manages to boil down how she feels into one 5 word phrase.

Ill equipped for her emotions.

Augusta is still waving her hand around and talking loudly about wedding plans as Caroline crosses the room and adds an amendment.

How she feels can be summarised by two five word phrases:

Ill equipped for her emotions

and

deeply annoyed with someone’s happiness.

Someone has bought a bottle of champagne and a waiter pops the cork as she slides back into her seat. When the bubbles hit her tongue they taste like weddings and resentment.

It occurs to her then that this is what someone might refer to as a pattern.

...

What it comes down to is this. Augusta (soon to be) Elton is loud, and unsophisticated and tactless, she both layers on superficial affection and talks down to the vast majority of people she knows. She is a deeply flawed and irritating person and the thing that bothers Caroline most about her above all of these things is that she is happy.

It turns out Caroline Lee does do jealousy.

She forces herself to understand this. To examine it. To look at it in all of it’s ugly pettiness.

If she is jealous that means she wants something.

She’s not so naive to think that simply knowing the concrete fact that she wants to be happy is going to change much, but she determines, that night as she scrubs off her makeup and stares at her raw clean skin, that it’s a start.

…

Gigi Darcy calls her three days after Augusta shoves a half carat diamond ring under her nose. Caroline is skyping with Bing (who she called) and Jane (who is occasionally appearing in the background with fabric swatches, a pantone colour book that looks like it could double as a murder weapon and a smile).

“How are you?”

“Okay”

It’s not fine (which was always a lie) but it roughly translates to “I haven’t had any bathroom breakdowns since we last spoke but I’m also not about to do my best Gene Kelly imitation if I ever find myself outside in inclement weather”. The musical reference seems an odd one for her to make, even internally, and she thinks about that for a moment before she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket.

“Do you need to get that?”

She stares for one second, two seconds at Gigi’s smiling photograph and blinks back the unexpected guilt that floods her system, threatens to close her throat, has her itching to text the wrong person and drink too much stolen Darcy family scotch..

“No, I can call them back later”  

She’s told herself she isn’t going to lie to Bing anymore and she justifies this one by thinking maybe she will call Gigi back. She’ll call her and know what to say and not be dismissive or rude or pathetic but even as it half forms as an idea in her head she knows she’s not going to do it and stuffs the ensuing guilt back in her mouth like a silken gag.

“So” she half smiles “did I tell you that Augusta is getting married?”

Caroline knows she shouldn’t be amazed by how genuinely pleased Bing seems by the news.

“Wow, that’s great, it’s all happening isn’t it?”

Her phone buzzes again. Voicemail.

“Yes it is”

…

It starts with a long pause and Gigi’s voice comes out bright and brittle but backed with unexpected steeliness.

“Hey it’s, uhm, it’s Gigi, look” she pauses for a beat “look I talked to Lydia a few days ago and I wanted to see if I could do coffee with you, I’m going to be in LA this weekend for a Metric concert so let me know if- let me know when you’re free”

She listens to the message with a cigarette in hand twice and responds quickly with a text. The kind she once would have shot off with little thought. It suggests a time and a place. There is no expression of a desire to talk, no casual ‘x’ added to the final line. She isn’t sure if this is a bridge worth salvaging. If that’s something that’s even possible. So much of her relationship with Gigi was based entirely on the notion that Caroline was her big brother’s friend. She was older. She was stylish and polished and 1000 feet tall.

…

The weather is miserable, humid and overcast as Caroline sits and waits for her to arrive. Her eyes scour the menu in front of her, though she knows what she is going to order already. French press coffee, no need for cream or sweetener, black will be fine.

She is very actively not tapping either of her chanel booties on the tiled flooring as she catches a glimpse of a vibrant printed skirt outside and Gigi, looking both breathless and tight lipped enters the room.

Caroline sits up a little straighter in her chair (though she doesn’t know why) and waves her over. The action feels familiar and it should, she’s done it a hundred times before, but she has to fight the new found urge to fidget and can feel the phrase “I talked to Lydia” is sitting underneath her tongue making it feel clumsy and heavy when she returns her greeting.

“Was your flight ok?”

_ItalkedtolydiaItalkedtolydiaItalkedtolydia_

“Oh I drove up” there’s a beat of confusion from Caroline’s side of the table as Gigi drops into the chair, placing her handbag on the floor beside her “from Sanditon?”

“Right, of course, silly me” her hands glide over the menu and she glances down at it “how is that all going?”

_ItalkedtolydiaItalkedtolydiaItalkedtolydia_

“Great” Gigi jumps into a quick description of the tiny but nice apartment she’s just signed the lease on, the bizarre quirks of the town’s population and finally the new job in the mayors office, ending the entire thing with a smile and the phrase “I feel like Leslie Knope”

Caroline was unaware that it was a desirable thing to feel like an overworked mid level bureaucrat with an awful dye job but chooses not to say as much.

“Well it sounds like a lot of fun”

“It is”

There’s a lull and she can see a flicker of stillness come over Gigi, her grin is slowly fading and her grip on the menu is loose. She gulps once, braces for impact and suddenly there a waitress at her shoulder.

“Are you two ready to order?”

“We’ll need a minute or two more sorry”

The waitress ducks away with a smile and Gigi turns to Caroline. She doesn’t even have a chance to properly read the younger girl before she begins to speak, refusing to be interrupted for a second time.

“Look Caroline I wanted to talk to you about the George thing”

It comes out just like that. One clear sentence, her hands are clasped together and her bottom lip is doing a thing where Caroline can tell she’s biting the inside of it, a thin veneer hiding the girl who burst into tears on an ap demo all those years ago..

Everything in her screams at her to say ‘Oh must we really?’ and flag down the waitress. Everything else in her screams out a desire for a cigarette if only because it would give her something flippant to do with her hands. They’re inside, and she doesn’t smoke in front of Gigi, so she brings her hands to her lap instead.

“I don’t know why we couldn’t have waited to have coffee for this conversation but by all means go ahead”

Now Gigi hesitates and Caroline lets the flinch of a moment poke a guilty jab at her sternum.

At any rate, she doesn’t rise to the bait.

“George-” she stops short for a second, glances down at her still clasped hands and then forces her eyes up “When I was with him, I mean, just before I was with him I was basically just Darcy’s little sister, no one who had known me for longer than about 6 months really saw me outside of that and I resented it” it sounds mildly rehearsed, it she’s had to explain her relationship with him to a lot of people “So when he came into the picture, and we started seeing each other. I got to do something that I thought might annoy William a little, mostly though it was just the fact that it was someone who knew all of my stuff but wasn’t looking at me like I was a little kid” a different waitress bustles past with a tray, god Caroline could go some coffee “In hindsight I know that part of me thought being in this grown up relationship where we lived together would make other people look at me differently too”

Caroline feels like she hasn’t blinked for the entire time she’s been talking. She does so now and is aware of her gaze flitting around the room, looking for an escape route she’s not letting herself take.

“Basically what I’m saying is people get into relationships, or start seeing people, for the wrong reasons all the time” her eyes settle on Caroline’s  “I don’t know why you started doing, whatever you were doing with George but I can appreciate that sometimes it’s hard to explain” something like humour joins her tone and she concludes “especially at like 8 o’clock on a Sunday morning”

And then she’s done, and flagging down the waitress, double checking Caroline is still after their french press and then adding her own order as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do

Gigi Darcy is 1000 feet tall. When did that happen?

…

The rest of the coffee date is punctuated with small talk. Gigi doesn’t ask and Caroline doesn’t offer anything of an explanation as her mind goes into quiet, well mechanised overdrive trying to reconstruct the chinese whispers that lead to Gigi hearing about what has  been labelled as ‘her indiscretion’ in her head over the past four days.

It’s only as they exit the air conditioned cafe to the stifling damp humidity of the outdoors that Caroline says something. Even though a kinder, more logical part of her brain is telling her that Gigi deserves to know it still comes out like this:

“If you must know, we were only sleeping together and I’m not even sure why I was doing it, I certainly never thought it was a good idea”

Gigi offers a small smile, it’s not sad exactly, or contemplative, or knowing, it’s just small.

“Okay”

...

When she gets home there’s already an invite to an engagement party among the bills that make up the majority of her mail.

The first thing that comes to mind is that it looks like they commissioned Mrs Bennet to do a rush job designing the invites. Placing the (frilly, floral, _scented_ ) card on her desk she reaches for the cigarettes she didn’t bring with her to the coffee, lights one and for a contemplative moment allows herself to look out her window at the dull grey sky.

She thinks of Gigi, who’s worked for her family business and somehow wound up doing something else she loves. She thinks of too much time in her own head and listlessness only punctuated by skype calls and coffee dates.

She thinks of all of these things and calls her mother that night.

There’s a job in the PR department of a pharmaceuticals company her mother invests in opening in a weeks time.

Nepotism is certainly good for something.


	8. Sit Back and Wave Through The Daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys. It's done. FINALLY. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and enjoyed exploring the joy, horror and tragedy that is Caroline Lee with me. I wish I could lie about how accomplished I feel right now.

Unsurprisingly Caroline is very good at PR. 

Painting a pretty face on a disaster, viewing conversations as carefully planned out duels of wit and niceties. It’s like her entire life has been a lead up to doing it professionally.

…

Six months at the pharmaceutical company, one perfectly placed conversation at a water cooler and a well handled disaster gave her glowing recommendations. It’s one thing to promote a company, any tiny start up needs that, it’s the big ones, the corporate groups, the conglomerates that have existed for prosperous generations that need their asses covered.

It’s how she winds up working for the Tilney Group. 

Yes, that Tilney Group.

The big bad corporate real estate tycoon whose primary heir seems to think it’s his job to sexually harass interns on a weekly basis.

He still goes by a college football nickname if that’s any indication of the kind of adult he is.

Most of her job is smoothing over that particular disaster area, she understands it’s because she’s new to the department (18 months is still new at a company like this) and she has got it down to a science now, but it still takes up an alarming amount of her time.There’s plenty more to do within the company. She knows a packet of would be heritage buildings were just purchased to be replaced with condos (and that a large construction site of theirs in Chicago had collapsed in on itself because of shoddy concrete), just as she knows that someone is going to have to follow behind with a broom. Damage control. She’s good at it.

Early on a friday morning, nearly two years after she called her mother for that first job she gets a memo from Anne in HR, it’s succinct, to the point and more or less passes on the knowledge that once again a plucky intern has filed a sexual harassment complaint against dear old Cap’ Tilney.

Part of her (the part that isn’t irritated that a man with a corner office spends 75% of his time down on the wrong floor near the cubicles relentlessly hitting on 22-year-olds) is always a little impressed that occasionally one of them actually goes through with filing the paperwork.

She’s perusing the form in her not particularly large office, sipping on a coffee and working through the standard process when her cell phone rings.

It’s Bing. She glances at his name on the caller ID screen, perplexed for a second (it’s a friday morning, she hasn’t been able to take calls at this time of day for quite some time now) and is resolved to just call him back during lunch when the fairly obvious reason for his call metaphorically slaps her in the face.

“Hello?”

“Caroline”

His voice is a turbulent cocktail of excited, ecstatic, terrified and harassed and in the background she can hear the vague sounds of hurried action. He momentarily seems to forget he’s given her a call and he talks to someone near him, something about socks and an oil burner which sounds a little concerning. Caroline decides to say his line for him.

“I assume Jane’s gone into labour?”

“I-What? Yes” A pause as someone on Bing’s end of the line lets out a triumphant sounding yelp “oh good the socks-look Caroline, I never heard back from you if you’d be able to come down for it?”

He doesn’t say that the entire Bennet clan is going to be there (because they are) or that he didn’t invite either of their parents down until afterwards for a whole plethora of messy uncomfortable reasons they’ve been negotiating since they were 13, but Caroline knows all about it. She also knows that Lizzie will likely be bringing her husband down with her, which is the one thing that Bing seems to take into account.

“And I know the whole thing with Darcy-”

“I’ll be there” Caroline says in a tone that she hopes will impart some sense of calm to her brother “I’m sure we can all be adults about it, you don’t have to worry”

...

She maneuvers a conversation that gets her out of work with her immediate superior in under ten minutes and feels a familiar nostalgic satisfaction as she crosses the lobby accompanied by the click of her Givenchy pumps on the marble flooring.

...

The trip home is quick, and Caroline efficiently uses the time to check flight availability and let Henrietta know she won’t be able to make dinner with the girls that weekend (a blessing really because Augusta does nothing but talk about her pre natal yoga these days which unsurprisingly not an improvement on her usual conversation) hanging up her phone as she steps out of the town car.

It feels like odd skewed Dejavu to be packing for netherfield again. Yes, this time it’s rushed and she only really need two changes of clothes but the motions accompanied by her phone call to a cab company awaken old adrenaline in her. Like she’s preparing for a fight that won’t come.

One moment. She gives herself it as she settles into her flight to think about Lizzie and Darcy and being surrounded by Bennets for what will inevitably wind up being the better part of a weekend.  
She went to the baby shower, and got wrangled into a quiet christmas with Bing and Jane the previous year but has miraculously avoided anything more than a polite greeting with William Darcy in over two years.

And yes, sometimes she does get fleetingly sad that their friendship fell by the wayside, that things proceeded as they did, that she made bad decisions and he felt it was easier to ignore that they barely spoke anymore, but it happened. She should have given up trying to get his attention or a reaction or whatever it is she was attempting to do before she even burst angrily into Lizzie Bennet’s study and torched that bridge for all the internet to see.

She knows that now, lets her chest squirm uncomfortably for a moment and then pulls out her tablet focussing on a work email instead of the safety demonstration occurring three rows in front of her. The collapsed building has finally prompted the Tilney group to consider starting up a separate charity group as a PR move. The email is bookmarked, and she looks out at the the tarmac.

If she hadn’t burnt that bridge they would be at a point where they referred to each other as ‘old friends’. Waxing nostalgic over wine as they visited each other's cities. She lets herself think of that sometimes too.

…..

When she arrives at the hospital it’s to a waiting room full of Bennets.

They don’t notice her at first. In the sprawling corner of the room where everyone has set up camp. She uses the moment to take stock of the scene. Mrs Bennet is directing traffic flow, Lydia is on her phone, Lizzie isn’t there. Part of her feels relieved by this and there’s only a small part of her that thinks it’s a success that she can acknowledge why that is.

There’s a flurry of movement by Caroline’s left shoulder accompanied by the wheels of luggage on linoleum floor.

“Lizzie! Honey!”

“Hey Mom sorry I’m late!”

The flurry reaches the back corner where her family is located and Caroline remains frozen in place. Gives herself 5 seconds to see if Darcy is going to round the corner immediately after.

“He’s just parking now”

The sentence carries accross the room and breaks Caroline out of her stupor. Squaring her shoulders and adjusting her laptop in her arms she considers pulling out her phone to check an email as she finally makes her way to them but ultimately decides against it.

It’s eleven brisk steps from her position in the doorway to the corner they’re located in. Brisk, deliberate steps. Lydia looks up from her phone and is the first to notice her approach.

“Hello”

“Caroline! You made it”

“Of course, it’s the least I could do”

If 3 years ago someone had said that she would find it easiest to make small talk with Mrs Bennet than the rest of the women in that family she would have rolled her eyes and gone to find herself some scotch. She gets 3 unessecarily detailed updates about Jane and answers a few questions about her flight before she’s able to take a seat. Next to Mr Bennet seems to be the safest option by far.

Lizzie has busied herself finding her own seat and pulling out an ipad. Lydia is still gripping her phone in one hand but has turned her scrutiny to her sister instead.

It only takes Caroline enough time to pull out a half finished draft for a press release before Darcy arrives. He says a surprisingly warm hello to the rest of the family before his eyes settle on her. She can feel it despite her gaze resting firmly on her laptop screen. Bracing herself for a fraction of a second she looks up and meets his gaze.

“Hello Darcy”

“Caroline”

“Good flight?”

He seems perturbed by the attempt at small talk but then Bing is rushing out with an update on the labour and it passes. As her brother sweeps down for a quick hug Darcy settles into his own seat.

…

She doesn’t talk much for the next four hours, apart from accepting the offer of vending machine coffee from Mr Bennet.

Lydia and Lizzie get into a playful argument about her production company's propensity for adapting pretentious “nerd” literature and it’s amusing entertainment and brief respite from work. Caroline is loathe to admit it, but even when those first videos were being filmed the sisters’ antagonism was always a source of amusement. Darcy tries to get involved in the debate briefly and is soundly schooled by the youngest Bennet. The situation seems to be a regular occurrence because Lizzie lets out a good natured chuckle and rolls her eyes. Caroline can’t say she blames her.

“I think you know better by now then to try and argue with Lydia about what the youths are into these days”

“Exactly, I mean do you even know what snapchat IS Darce?”

“Ooft no need to decimate him Lydia”

“ _I know what snapchat is_ ”

…

Baby Emma is born at 11:21pm. Seven pounds 11 ounces. Five fingers. Five Toes. A shock of red hair and dark eyes.

It’s universally agreed that she is perfect and Bing is wiping away tears when he announces it.

...

It’s the first time she talks to Darcy without anyone else there since he visited on a hungover Sunday morning half a lifetime ago. 

Lizzie is with an exhausted but glowing Jane, Bing is probably napping upright somewhere and the rest of the family must be occupied because he’s the only person she recognises looking through the nursery window. 

At this point, she wouldn’t be all that surprised if the Bennet-Darcy duo were about to announce a pregnancy. They always had impeccable timing like that.

Once upon a time the very idea would have elicited a scoff, an eyeroll and a text to George Wickham. Somewhere in the very edges of her mind there is an echo of the feeling. It’s barely a shadow. She knows it should frustrate her that even the slightest wisp of years old spite is still there but It’s masked by her drowsy happiness so instead she approaches the window clasping her coffee and looking down at her newborn niece.

Maybe it’s because she wants to squash the feeling that still lingers faintly in her gut, maybe she’s honestly curious, maybe it’s just her sleep deprivation and glee finally getting to her, she begins to talk to Darcy. 

It’s less than successful.

“Have you got much time off work?”

“No, I return on Sunday”

His voice is clipped and awkward, his chin is permanently tucked into his neck around her and the phrase. After hours of listening to him chat fairly comfortably with the Bennet clan the contrast is shattering. ‘His good opinion once lost is lost forever’ begins to bounce around her head but she cuts it off almost immediately and takes a deep sip of her coffee.

They lapse into silence for two drawn out seconds before Caroline can hear the irritating voice of her shrink telling her to ask, and be honest and not play games.

“Have you and Lizzie discussed having children?”

She only asks because she’s honestly curious, it’s forward, given the fact she and Darcy haven’t had a conversation one on one in an embarrassingly long time (she still isn’t entirely sure how she’s meant to apologise) but it’s better than nothing. Once upon a time conversations had been a nuanced form of tug-o-war, going backwards and forwards till someone was victorious, then they had somehow become one sided and she felt like she was standing around in a dusty backyard fighting for a rope that no one else wanted. It’s nice to not dance around things, and it’s something she’s slowly growing to enjoy.

Darcy pauses for an indiscernible moment, Caroline keeps her eyes trained on her niece, fast asleep as he decides if he wants to tell her. What he wants to tell her. If she’s going to come out with something snippy about Lizzie turning into her mother the minute she pops a baby out (she’d be lying if she said the thought hadn’t crossed her mind).

“We’re” Darcy clears his throat. The stop start of his conversation reminds her so strongly of the first time they were staying at Netherfield that she almost gets nostalgic. Almost. “Well, we’ve been trying, but” he pauses again and Caroline feels an involuntary twinge at the back of her throat. She pulls her eyes away from little Emma and looks directly at him. He’s completely uncomfortable and it finally hits her that there’s a reason that Darcy is standing by himself staring pensively at his new niece. 

“Oh” is all she says before glancing back at the squishy pink bundle that is her niece “I’m sorry to hear that”

She’s surprised to find how much she means it. 

They lapse into silence again, Caroline takes a deep sip of her coffee and they stare down at Emma. She squirms a little, wakes up and begins blinking up at the ceiling with big brown eyes that Caroline can already tell Bing isn’t going to ever say ‘No’ to.

“She is going to be either the most pleasant, selfless angel child that ever walks the earth” She crosses her arms and thinks of how generous and kind and giving Bing and Jane are, she also thinks of the phrasing she just used (Angel child? Seriously?), and how many hours she’s been out of bed for her brain to allow that to happen “or a complete nightmare”

Darcy scrutinizes his view in Caroline’s peripheral vision and adds in a dry tone she didn’t realise she missed “It does appear they are her only two options”

“I will just have to shoulder the burden of being ‘bitchy aunt Caroline’ I suppose” She gestures with her coffee, her voice matter of fact despite there being something of a smile in her tone “Teach her about French films and not taking advantage of her dad too often”

“Sounds like quite a burden to shoulder”

They’re not looking at each other but his tone forces an unironic smile to bloom across her face.

“I think I can handle it”


End file.
